


When Midas Is King

by bottleredhead



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is also a jealous prat, Arthur is an idiot tbh, F/M, Love is a losing game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin came to Camelot to build a life for herself, perhaps become an apprentice under Gaius' care. She did not do it to fulfill her 'destiny' (What did daft old dragons know of destiny anyway? Better yet, who kept a dragon prisoner under their city?), and she most definitely did not do it to fall in love with his royal highness, Prince Prat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merlin vs. Camelot (or meeting his royal pratness)

Merlin trudged on, bored beyond belief. The sandy landscape before her hadn't hanged for two days now, a wide dirt road fringed with bright, green foliage encasing her on either side. She tugged at her breeches, her blue shirt stretching across her ample chest. The rucksack on he back felt heavy, yet it was incredibly light due to the charm she placed it, one which would make it feather light. Of course, she couldn't do much about the lasting sun other than allow a slight cool breeze to blow across her heated forehead - any drastic use if magic would reveal her before she'd even reached her destination.

Glancing forward, she finally noted the tall spires of a castle, starkly concrete against the ever changing scenery around it. Camelot, a thought in the back of her head supplied. She'd heard much about the prosperous citadel, the lower towns where the poor we're protected, the castle where the King reigned. At the moment though, her greatest concern was with the availability of a bed on which she can rest her weary body.

Soon enough, she was walking through the gates. A guard asked her what her business here was, and she replied with a slight sigh, informing the red-dressed man that she was here to see Gaius, the court physician.

She didn't reach far though, before she was stopped once more. This time it wasn't by a guard, but by a gathered crowd, a wooden dais topped with a noose. A ragged man stood there, next to an executioner, a look of complete and utter desperation etched in the sun-weathered lines of his face. The rags on his person were dirty and ripped, his fingers trembling with what seemed to be fear.

She did not focus on what the greying, sturdy-looking man on the balcony above was saying. She caught the general gist though, which was practice magic and die. Magic, as it was now apparent, was banned by punishment of death in Camelot. Merlin shifted uneasily.

Moments later, the practitioner of magic was executed, and an ear-shattering wail erupted from somewhere in the crowd. The woman, old and frail-looking, uttered words of seeking revenge, disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Shaken at the violence displayed by Uther Pendragon, who she learned to be the King of Camelot, Merlin found herself asking directions to the quarters of the court physician.

Of course, nothing was ever easy when it came to Merlin, and she'd managed to reveal her magic within being less than an hour in the walls of Camelot. Gaius did not take kindly to her magical abilities, heeding her to take care and hide, for God's sake hide it as best as she could.

By nightfall, Merlin found herself in a small chamber surrounded by the scents of the experimental poisons she would later learn that Gaius was always brewing. A mirror hung on the wall next to her bed.

She was always slim, she thought as she observed herself in the reflective glass. When she'd started blooming, her hips had widened and her chest grew, giving her figure a resemblance to that of an hourglass, skinny yet shapely. Her hair, black as the feathers on a raven's black had never been sheared in her life, and so hung in tantalising sways down her back and past her hips. It was thick, and, almost reaching her knees, had always given her trouble bathing and brushing - styling it, of course, was out of the question. Merlin was not one for girliness. Her eyes were a matter she could not control, much like her kips (red as freshly picked cherries, just as soft and lightly chapped), exuding feminine qualities hidden in their deep, electric blue depths.

The only things about her physical appearance that betrayed her clumsiness were her ears. They were normal, thank you very much, quite like other people's ears, except for the fact that they stuck out at odd angles to her head, making her look like an adorable (not that she agreed on that point) mouse.

Looking away from the mirror, she conjured a tub filled with hot water, far too lazy and tired to draw herself an actual bath. Shedding the men's clothing she so preferred to the dresses girls her age were supposed to wear, she lowered her aching body into the water, hissing when some of the cuts (from wayward bushes and brambles) stung upon contact with the scalding water.

As she watched, her skin turned red under the angry heat of her bath.

It has been a long, long journey getting to Camelot, and she'd be damned if she allowed her new life to be ruined by something as simple as her having magic.

* * *

Bright and not-early the next morning woke up Merlin, intent on starting her life in Camelot with as little trouble as possible. She should have realised, of course, that that was not quite possible when it came to her.

Walking through the town, she came across a group of men torturing a servant boy. The boy, who looked to be about her age and had a resigned expression on his face, was hefting up a large, wooden target. It seemed quite heavy too. The blond man in the middle of the group was throwing daggers at the target, insisting on having moving target practice. Merlin wanted to punch the smirk right off his face.

Stepping forward, Merlin places the toes of her boot on the target which had fallen to the floor when the servant boy's arms gave out. "Hey, come one, that's enough," she said, voice strong and eyes narrowed.

The blond man's shoulders tensed. "What?" His voice was tight, incredulous.

Merlin cocked her head at him. "You've had your fun, my friend."

She could see the man being torn between laughing at her and giving her a lesson about manners. He apparently chose the latter. He spoke to her in derisive tones, the "do I know you?" more a rhetorical question that a real one.

"Erm," she breathed, deciding to be the bigger man even though she's not technically male, and stretching out her hand for a shake. "I'm Merlin."

"So I don't know you."

"No," she said. This was going to be difficult.

"Yet you called me... 'friend'."

Merlin couldn't help but grip her teeth together, a grim smile painted across her sharp yet delicate features. This man, whoever he was, was a prat and a pain in the ass, and she longed to give him a good slap upside the head. "That was my mistake-"

"Yes," he interrupted, "I think so."

"-I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, shoulders thrown back and spine straight. And of course, because she's Merlin and she's catastrophe-prone, the brat behind her wouldn't leave it at that.

"Tell me _Mer_ lin, do you know how to walk on your knees?"

The "no" rolled off her tongue before she could think, causing her to silently chastise herself for replying to this overgrown child and not continuing to walk away. She couldn't help it though; his arrogance sparked something in her, something that made her want to show him just what she could do to him. Merlin was most decidedly not a damsel in distress, and she refused to bow down to the misogynistic ways of Camelot.

"Would you like me to help you?" God, she could just give him one good punch o the nose right now.

With a half-sigh half-laugh tinged with resignation, she turned around, sapphire-blue eyes flashing with anger. "I wouldn't if I were you," _you prat_ , she added silently in her mind.

Her comment drew a chuckle from him. Now that she was almost chest-to-chest with him, both having drawn closer to each other as they sparred verbally once she'd turned around to face him, she could see that his eyes were a bright blue, teeth white, lips sinfully soft ("Look away, Merlin!"). Overall, he was quite handsome, though not with the smirk twisting his lips.

"Why, what are you going to do to me, Merlin?"

"You have no idea."

All of a sudden he was crooning for her to take a swing at him and then her arm was twisted painfully behind her back.

As a slight cry of pain escaped her, the cap she had fitted on to her head (with great difficulty, mind you. She'd had to wrap her hair several times around her head and then struggle to stuff the cap over her head) tumbled to the floor, her black curls tumbling behind the hat to swish in the light breeze.

Instantly, the man released her, the gathered crowd eliciting a collective gasp. She saw a maidservant drop a curtain from an upper window in the castle from in her peripheral view.

She's taken great care to put on her largest breeches, widest shirt. She'd figured that looking like a boy would give her better prospects when she'd set off from Ealdor, and she was mostly right, until this fight with this prat behind her happened.

"You're a girl," he murmured in surprise, stepping away in shock - and to get a better look at her.

Irrational anger gripped her in its vise-like clutches. She knew that she didn't resemble a girl one bit in her garb and hair covered; so why did it hurt so much that no one had figured it out?

Stop being such a girl, she reprimanded herself.

"And you're an ass," she smirked. "Who do you think you are anyway, the King?"

A cruel smirk spread on his face then, overtaking the surprise at finding out that he'd been arguing with a girl ( _So what if she was a girl? What a prejudiced bigot,_ she thought.)

"No. I'm his son, Arthur."

Oh bugger.

The world turned black.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon prided himself on being a man - all proper and respectful when it came to ladies, whether they were noble or not.

When he'd twisted the arm of the boy ( _girl_ , he thought to himself, _girl_ ), he'd felt the softness of his ( _no, her_ ) back against his chest. He hadn't thought much of it. Until that cap tumbled down.

Long, gorgeous, shiny locks of raven-black hair fell in soft waves towards the floor, and he barely registered the feminine gasp of pain his opponent released.

He'd let her go immediately, eyes narrowing on the boyish garb the girl wore. Now that her hair was down, she looked like an actual girl, all pointy cheeks and glittering sapphire eyes. Her lips were red, strangely reminiscent of cherries, and her figure hidden well in the cloth she was swimming in. The large jacket she wore (which was clearly a man's, and not hers) hung loose on her, helping hide her breasts - which he noticed were visible in profile when she moved and you squinted.

All in all, he couldn't believe he almost beat up a girl.

And then she's fainted. Because of him. And not because his good looks made her swoon, either. Arthur felt horrible.

Because his conscience wouldn't let him leave her lying there for any to rob or trample, he'd bent down and picked her up, instantly making his way to Gaius; he hadn't hurt her severely had he?

On their way to Gaius's chambers she'd woken up, struggling to get out of his grip as soon as she realised who he was. Her indignant cries of "Let me go!" were sure to be heard by the whole castle.

His grip on her had merely tightened as he restrained her from jumping away from him. "No, you've fainted, and I'm taking you to Gaius." It was as close as he was going to get to apologising for hurting her.

Gaius merely raised an eyebrow at them when Arthur appeared in his doorway, carrying Merlin in his arms the was he would a bride, his hands tight on her and probably bruising. Merlin merely flushed. Arthur found that he really, really liked seeing her blushing. Arthur also hated himself slightly for liking that.

He'd deposited her unceremoniously on Gaius's examination table, which caused her to glare at him. The fire in her eyes was supposed to be frightening, but it reminded him of a kitten trying to seem fierce. The laugh threatening to escape his lips conjured by the mental image was trapped promptly.

After examining her, going so far as to strip her of her shirt so he can examine her shoulder - slightly strained, not more- (Arthur had blushed himself when Gaius raised her shirt, barely getting a peek at the bandages that held in her chest before a throat-clearing made him turn around and turn an even brighter red - he was probably Pendragon red, but he found that he didn't care much.) Gaius stated that her fainting was probably caused by the exhaustion of her journey and shock to her system at finding out who Arthur was. The physician quickly reassured Arthur that he hadn't harmed her much, and with that, Arthur had strode out of the physician's rooms.

He'd later found himself on the training grounds, beating the stuffing out of a training dummy.

"Rough day," came a voice from beside him. Arthur's sword swung around to rest on Sir Leon's throat before dropping to point to the ground in Arthur's hands.

Arthur groaned. "The worst. I take it you heard?"

The knight grinned, a hand coming around to rest on the Prince's shoulder for a moment. "What, that you almost beat up a girl? Oh yes, sire, I've heard. I don't think anyone in Camelot hasn't, by this point."

Arthur groaned again, raising his sword only to stick it into the ground. "She didn't look like a girl, to be quite honest." He didn't know why he was trying to justify his actions, but plundered on anyway. "And it should be made illegal for maidens to disguise themselves as boys. And be that pretty."

He'd mumbled that last part, hoping Leon wouldn't catch on. From the face-splitting grin on his friend's face, he must have. "Pretty, eh? She's really gotten underneath your skin in such a short time."

A rueful grin twisted Arthur's face. "Oh, you have no idea."

* * *

Somewhere in the caves underneath Camelot, a dragon sighed, slight puffs of fire blowing from his huge nostrils.

"Merlin."


	2. Who died and made you King, my lord?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my notice that there are several typos in the first chapter. I really am sorry -hopefully adorable, self-deprecating smile- , I'll start editing my writing before posting again.  
> Anyway, thank you so much for the kudos and comment on the previous chapter. Much appreciated (no, I didn't hug my laptop screen when I saw them. Not much, anyway).  
> Enjoy!

She didn't know how it happened, really. In all honestly, in retrospect, in hindsight and all those little things that afforded her clarity after the event has come to pass, she probably should not have succumbed to his royal Pratness' goading.

But clarity wasn't a luxury she had while it was happening, and she was lucky she didn't end up in the stocks.

She was minding her own business, dressed as a boy once more, when Arthur's comment made itself unignorable. (Which wasn't a word, but Merlin thought she had poetic license after the 'ordeal', as she has come to call it in her head.)

"How's your knee-walking coming along?"

A saccharine smile plastered on her face, Merlin turned around to face the Prince, tossing him a once-over before turning around and continuing on her way.

"Aw, don't run away!"

"From you?" she asked, whirling around once more. Arthur was once more surrounded by a gang of knights, all cheering him on.

His smile turned cruel, though something in his eyes told her that his wasn't as into it as it was yesterday, before he knew she was female. "Thank God," he all but purred. "I thought you were deaf as well as dumb." His voice made the insults sound almost like endearments.

Chagrined at his callousness, Merlin's eyes threatened to glow with a flash of gold. She fought to rein in her wayward magic, and hissed at him, "Look, I've told you you're an ass. I just didn't realise you're a royal one. And what are you going to do, get your Father's men to arrest a girl for telling you the truth?"

Pride filled the magic user as Arthur's nostrils flared with anger. "I could take you apart with one blow, girl-"

"-I could take you apart with less than that-"

"-except you're a girl, and I'd been taught to never raise a hand to a maiden, no matter how unfeminine they are."

She couldn't help it; she smirked. "Afraid to lose to me, are you?"

"Come on, then. I warn you, I've been trained to kill since birth."

"Wow, and how long have you been training to be a prat?"

"You can't address me like that."

"I'm sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat, _my lord_?"

* * *

 

Arthur, for his part, didn't know what happened either. One moment he was lounging around the lower town with his knights, the next he was goading Merlin (who was still in boy garb - he made a mental note to outlaw females dressing up as men when he was King) into talking to - more like arguing with - him.

All he knew is that even in the shapeless fabric, the sway of her hips, which he'd missed yesterday somehow, was enticing. Arthur, not knowing how to approach the girl, let his brain take over, insulting the firecracker of a maiden just a tiny, repressed part of his brain yelled at him that this was a Bad Idea. He seldom listened to that part though, proceeding to muck things up before realising that he should not have done that, whatever that was at the moment.

Bad ideas, however, seemed to be on the day's itinerary as he took up her challenge. Never mind that she was a maiden and he could seriously harm her (again, his mind supplied (un)helpfully); suddenly they were dueling with mace.

Surprisingly, he kept tripping and getting his mace tangled in hanging supplies all over the market. He'd never been this ungraceful, and he knew he was making a fool of himself in front of his subjects, but he had to prove a point to Merlin. What the point was, he didn't know. He was sure there was one though.

It was unsettling when Merlin managed to disarm him and have him at her mercy. "Do you want to give up?"

"To you?"

And then he's managed to disarm her, and she's the one at his mercy. "Do you want to give up?"

And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his unfaithful mind conjured up an image that made his pants uncomfortably tight - Merlin, writhing underneath him with pleasure as he asked her that same question, but for entirely different purposes.

As his knights moved forward to seize her, their grip unrelenting on her arms, he motioned for them to let her go. "Wait," he murmured. Her expressive, jewel-toned eyes narrowed warily at him. "Let her go. She may be an idiot, but she's a brave one."

If he heard her snort (which he had), he didn't acknowledge her.

"There's something about you, _Mer_ lin. I can't quite put my finger on it."

A light blush grazed her cheeks.

And he couldn't, not for the life of him, figure out just what it was about her that made him want to make her blush _oh so prettily_ again.

* * *

_Of course_ (and it was one of those heavily-sighed of courses that sounded resigned and slightly amused all at once when uttered), Destiny was an asshole, as Merlin later learned, and decided that throwing Arthur and Merlin together would just be too amusing to resist. Merlin really doubted the sense of humour Destiny seemed to have.

All she could see at the moment was an incredibly pointy-ended and sharp knife hurtling its way towards Arthur, the Prince of all the prats, with the sole intent of diving deep into his chest and puncturing that rottenly arrogant heart of his.

So _of course_ , all Merlin could do was launch herself at Arthur, fingers closing around his shoulders and pulling him out of the way of the hostile object before it had the chance to spear her sparring opposition like a pig on a spit.

Arthur for his part, was malleable in her hands, joints not protesting her tugging limbs. They ended up sprawled on the floor of the room, the Prince pressed against her intimately, eyes clouded with confusion as he registered who it was lying beneath him, all soft curves and mischievous eyes.

It's Uther who regains the power of speech first. "You saved my boy's life," the man said in astonishment. "A debt must be repaid."

Both scrambling to their feet, Merlin was the one who's expression wasn't questioning the King's sanity. "Oh, well..."

Uther smiled, and it was a frightening thing to behold. "Don't be so modest, you shall be rewarded."

Merlin simply swallowed and murmured about how _she couldn't, shouldn't and really, it's fine._

"You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."

Several mouths fell open in a quite unbecoming manner. The part of Merlin that wasn't having a mental breakdown at the thought of being Arthur's manservant was miffed at how shocked everyone seemed to be that the King would give her such a 'high' reward. It wasn't much of a reward anyway.

"Father!" came Arthur's indignant cry, ignored by the King.

Merlin started spluttering. "B-but... I'm a girl! I can't possibly be his manservant!"

Uther barely spared her a glance of disbelief, for she was yet again playing at being a boy, before smiling once again. A shiver ran through her at that smile. "Never the matter, you shall be his maidservant."

Arthur and Merlin looked at each other in horror before turning to face the other side with chagrined expressions.

And this is how Merlin came to be Arthur's maidservant.

* * *

 

Arthur, for his part, couldn't possibly understand what possessed his father to appoint a girl who couldn't possibly older than sixteen years of age to be his servant. In all his nineteen years of life, he'd never much understood his father anyway, but this was taking it to a whole new level.

The girl (bloody hell, his new manservant wasn't even a manservant to begin with), as well as apparently refusing to acknowledge her gender in clothing articles, was clumsy, lazy and abso-bloody-lutely gorgeous. And it frustrated Arthur to no end.

As she helped him put on his armour the morning before the swords tournament, she forgot to tie a couple of pieces twice, and when her fingers ghosted over his chest or back as they fumbled with the straps of the shiny metal, he'd had to swallow hard and force himself not to lean in to her touches. Besides being extremely inappropriate, it would certainly not bode well for him. Merlin had a tongue as sharp as a sword on her; he didn't want to be on the receiving end of her fist.

As she pushed his helmet into his crooked arm with a self-satisfied look, a somewhat evil and possibly dangerous (for she would most certainly fight him nail and tooth on this) idea entered his mind. And once Arthur Pendragon got an idea, he was hellbent on carrying it through.

"Say, _Mer_ lin," he started, noting how her eyes widened infinitesimally then narrowed as she picked up on his tone, "I already know you're rubbish at knee-walking and mace-swinging; how's your swordsmanship?"

Her distrustfully-narrowed eyes narrowed even further, her mouth curving into a suspicious bow. "Fairly nonexistent, and I say so because I've ever held a sword before in my life. _Why_?"

His small smile grew into a full-blown smirk. " _Because_ , you idiot, no servant of mine should wander about unable to protect their lives if worse came to worse."

Merlin really didn't like the glint in his eyes.

"We're going to train you in how to use a sword."

Bloody hell. Bloody Camelot. Bloody _Arthur "Prince Prat" Pendragon._

Merlin had a feeling she'd be terribly sore tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a game: take a shot for every time Arthur says " _Mer_ lin" in an epsiode.

**Author's Note:**

> There are several girl!Merlin fics out there, but I simply couldn't resist. Un-beta-ed and mostly unedited (because I suck horribly at editing). I most probably won't focus on their adventures much, and more on their budding relationship. There will be adventures of course, as well as original ones.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
